


Minor Annoyances

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, On Hiatus, One-Sided Sterek, Other additional characters to be added, Peter is an asshole, Post - Alpha Pack, Stiles just wants everyone to leave him alone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-05 21:01:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was touching how much Derek had come to care for Stiles. It was entirely hysterical to Peter how much Stiles still despised his nephew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Peter

Defeating the Alpha pack did not come without its casualties. Scott was still probably hauled up somewhere in the ruins of the Hale home comforting Isaac who grieved over the deaths of his pack. Peter didn't particularly care much for either Boyd or Erica, but it hit the beta harder than it did any of the rest of them. Peter got rather sick of watching his nephew pace back and forth across the floor boards with his infamous brooding attitude hanging heavily from his shoulders. Despite Derek's opinion, Peter was thrilled to have the Alpha pack completely off their backs and out of their lives; and to boot, there were only _two_ deaths. Less than Peter counted when they jumped into this thing head-first with a plan that barely held.

As he saw it, Erica and Boyd were disposable. But Scott, Jackson, even Isaac proved to be useful in more ways than none. Especially that thin-lipped boy with the cropped brown hair: Stiles. He was the very reason his nephew wouldn't take a moment to let his mind have a bit of peace.

It wasn't like Peter didn't see it coming; Stiles was definitely the brains in their little conjoined pack, risking his life often to find the weaknesses and vulnerable points of the enemy, and to Peter's surprise, he actually did. That too didn't come without consequences. The boy was hurt rather badly, nothing immediately life threatening but enough to keep him bed ridden with daily visits from Scott’s mother for what would be a few weeks at most. Peter imagined what that must've done to the boys’ father; Stiles limping and bleeding all over. He laughed aloud at the thought. How could he even explain something like that? That he got mauled from a mountain lion? He laughed again.

“Peter.” Derek’s voice was strained and small but still commanded the authority of an Alpha. Peter leaned his shoulder leisurely against a blackened wood of a pillar that stood in the center of what used to be a family room. He turned to face his nephew, smirk falling from his lips. The man looked _awful._ It was coming up on a week since their victory and it looked like Derek had just relived the whole ordeal five times over again. His skin was getting pasty and the purplely bags underneath those sunken eyes made him look delirious.  
  
Peter cleared his throat and stood a little straighter. “Need something?”

Derek nodded. “I need you to go and check on Stiles for me.” Peter could’ve sworn his voice had taken on a bit of a pleading tone. He crossed his arms and said, “And what good would my presence have on the boy’s health?” Peter waved a hand in the air as he spoke, “Melissa is there with him all of the time, she’d be more help than-“

Derek gritted his teeth. “Just. Do it. I need to know if he’s just. . .” He trailed off, eyes falling to the floor.

Peter almost snorted. It was _touching_ how much Derek had come to care for Stiles. It was entirely _hysterical_ to Peter how much Stiles still despised his nephew

He shrugged and stepped closer to Derek, clasping a hand on his shoulder. “If it’ll make you stop trudging around with that damned look- oh stop it you’re doing it now.” Derek scrunched his face up a little, clearly annoyed. Peter merely smiled and continued, “I’ll go and take a look.” And with that he could feel the tiniest bit of tension slip from Derek, heart even slowing a bit. Peter lifted an eyebrow. He  really did care for that boy.

With that, Peter swiped the keys to the Camaro and drove in the direction of Stiles’ house. Until he thought it’d be incredibly funny to take a detour into town to a nearby floral shop. If Peter was going to sacrifice his own time to look after someone that probably hated him more than he did Derek, he was going to at least have a little fun with it. 


	2. Peter

Peter never went into town much unless it was completely necessary. Too many memories were burrowed there and Peter had moved on from the bulk of it, though a reminder here and there was enough to keep him in the woods with the rest of the pack. It was a contradiction and he knew it: he'd rather stay in the home that still had undertones of his family's death rather than find a new place somewhere else. He didn't have much of a reason to stay there any longer. The Alpha pack crisis had been taken care of and there was a hint at the possibility that things could go back to normal, whatever that was.

Peter turned into an empty parking space right between a large and obnoxious looking Hummer and the curb. He struggled for a moment to get out of the car. The damned driver of that _monstrosity_ to his left had terribly crooked parking, making it a chore just to slip out of the narrow space between the car door and the side of the Hummer. He wouldn't _dare_ risk getting a scratch on Derek's car, it was one of the few things he put any effort into maintaining nowadays. With a huff, Peter slithered his was through without leaving so much as a scrape on either the Hummer or the Camaro. He groaned softly at the thought of having to actually get back _in_ the damned thing

The door chimed open when Peter walked inside the small shop. The pungent fragrance that came from each flower was overwhelming to say the least, but with a wriggle of his nose, he made his way to the counter. There was a young girl there fiddling with her fingernails as she bobbed her head in time with the soft music playing on the stores speakers. She didn't look up when Peter sauntered in.

In a casual tone, he said "Excuse me but, you wouldn't happen to have a small bouquet of sunflowers available would you?" The girl popped her gum and looked up at Peter, cheeks instantly flushing a soft pink shade.  
  
"Oh! Uhum, yes ya we do," she scurried around into the back of the store and brought back a clip board and a pen. "You'll just need to fill out your order here first and we'll see if we can get you squared away." She handed it to Peter and he smiled that charismatic smile; Peter could hear the rhythm of her heart quicken. He took the pen in hand and tapped the end of it on the clipboard a few times. He cocked his head to the side slightly. "Any chance they could be ready now?" He questioned while looking over his shoulder to the shelves outside that were packed with flowers drinking in the sunlight. He spotted two different sets of sunflowers on a bottom row. He turned back to the girl and leaned in closer. "I see a few outside, how about you let me go ahead and pay for one now."

The girl chewed at her bottom lip for a beat and then said "Sorry sir but, those flowers have already been reserved."

Peter smirked and tipped over the counter just a little more, voice dropping a few decibels as he spoke, "It's imperative that I have them now," he looked into the girls ’blue-green eyes. His expression softened. "I'll even pay extra for them." She started chewing on her lower lip again in thought, mulling over her options. She walked around the small counter to the front of the store and picked up the flowers.

Peter gets what Peter wants. And even better, when he left the store, that Hummer that was swallowing up practically both of parking spots was gone. He clicked the door unlock and slid into the driver’s seat, placing the sunflowers in the back of the car. Before turning around to start the engine, he saw a little note embedded inside of the bouquet. A phone number. Peter snorted and tossed the tiny piece of paper out of the window.

He rapped his fingertips against the smooth black leather of the steering wheel, Cheshire-like smile widening ear to ear as he pulled into the empty driveway.

 _Oh_ this was going to be rich. As soon as Peter began fishing in his back pocket for the spare key to Stiles' house (Derek had it made in case of emergencies, ya right) Peter perked his ears at the soft gasps he heard. They were staccato and soundless, just puffs of air falling into pants almost. Peter just about beamed! What were the odds?!

Opening the front door as slowly and carefully as he could, Peter tip-toed inside and made his way upstairs to Stiles' room with sunflowers in hand and trademark smirk on his lips.

He frowned. Peter had hoped his bedroom door would be slightly ajar so he could at least have a little peak. Nevertheless, he turned the brass knob and swung the door open.

And there he was, stretched over-top his comforter with a hand down his boxer shorts. He turned to Peter, reaction delayed for a moment and once it sunk in that he was not the only person in his room, that there someone intruding on his personal time, Stiles flailed and nearly fell off his small bed. "What the actual fuck Peter!" He shrieked.

It took every single _ounce_ of his being to not break into laughter. Instead his lips trembled a bit from restraint and he advanced into the room.

Stiles wasn't having it. "No, no no no NO. GET. OUT." He clumsily tucked himself back into his boxers and submerged between his sheets. Peter was sure Stiles meant to be menacing and demanding, but half covered in blankets and a pink flush creeping up his neck and cheeks, it just wasn't happening for him.

Peter shrugged and stepped closer to the fuming boys' bed, sitting the vase of sunflowers right next to a window. His eyes followed Peter, gritting his teeth as he said, "What the _hell_ are those?"

Peter looked puzzled. Stiles took and deep breath, understanding the man was merely teasing him.

"I just thought I'd bring you a little present," Peter gaze switched between the flowers and Stiles. "You know they really being out your eyes."

Peter chewed on the inside of his cheek, trying his damned hardest to keep his composure. But it looked as if Stiles was about to _lose_ it and Peter took great joy in that. "Honestly," he started, "I came to check on you, I see that you're recovering rather nicely, enough to even-"

Stiles threw his hands in the air. "Ok seriously stop this isn't funny." He sank back more into the blankets. "You don't just come waltzing in someone's room; _my_ room. Get out and take those stupid flowers with you."

Peter mocked offence. "If I were a complete stranger maybe," he stated with crossed arms.

Stiles stared at him as if he were an idiot. With a laugh he said, "Oh yeah, you're not a stranger. You're just a psychopathic zombie wolf. 'Cause that's _so_ much better."

The smug look fell away quickly. Peter placed his hands on the firm mattress and leaned over Stiles' bed, pinning him with those icy blue eyes. "This psychopathic zombie _saved_ your reckless ass." Stiles swallowed. "So I believe I'm entitled to come and see if you haven't killed over yet." He smirked when Stiles flinched.

Peter walked back over to the window and pulled the blinds open, letting the sun splay itself across the floor. "And this room needs some air, too stuffy." He opened up the window sill and inhaled a lung full of the dry air of summer. When he turned back to Stiles, he was gawking at him; mouth open and all.

Peter did have a snide comment, but he abruptly forgot it as soon as he caught Stiles' eye. The light that hit his retinas was a bit stunning to say the least. It made his eyes a very bright, opaque brown. Peter always did have a thing for pretty eyes...

He shook the thought off and bid Stiles a goodbye; leaving the boy’s room, door still wide open and all.

When Stiles found his voice again, he yelled "You could at least shut the door!" And he did: the front door on his way out. "Asshole," he muttered. Stiles stood up on wobbly legs and made his way to close the door, and when he did, he looked around his room, eyes landing on the sunflowers. He had half a mind to just chuck them right out of the window.

Too bad he couldn't bring himself to do it.


	3. Stiles

As the days pass painfully slow, Stiles starts to recover and regain his strength. Sitting sedentary in his room, having nothing to do and nowhere to go was terribly boring and lonely. Though it could be worse; each and every day around the same time, Peter Hale would show up at his bedroom door – knocking before entering – with a single sunflower in hand to add to the growing bouquet by his window. Stiles made sure to tend to the plants, it gave him something to do, something to care for.

The visits were brief; only lasting ten to twenty minutes give or take. But Stiles didn't talk much; it was Peter, stupid smile and all. And it'd be little, meaningless things that would have Stiles cackling to himself. Stiles wouldn't exactly say he was growing _fond_ of Peter, more among the lines of he was able to tolerate the man now. Brooding, and casting menacing glares on him just required too much energy; energy that Stiles never thought he'd run out of.

Melissa had come for her last visit on a Thursday; unwrapping bandages and rubbing salve over almost-healed bruises. It meant that Stiles was finally well enough to be able to _do_ things again. Which, he wasn't exactly sure what those things would be; there wasn't much for Stiles to do now that Beacon Hills was in a period of quiet peace. But it seemed like there was some hope after all.

Stiles was astounded when he opened his front door and saw Derek. Usually his preferred route of getting into Stiles' home was through his bedroom window, without letting Stiles know he was there. The Alpha looked tired; his shoulders weren't squared and held high as they normally were, they were collapsed and his whole stature seemed. . .weak. As soon as their eyes locked, Derek perked up a bit. Stiles crossed his arms and winced at the slight pain that rippled across his ribs, damned bruises. Derek's eyes shone with concern was it? His fingers twitched at his side as if he were going to reach out and offer comfort. Stiles ignored it and said "Can I help you?" Derek shifted his weight on another foot as he replied "There's a pack meeting today."

Stiles shrugged. "What for? There hasn't been a threat in _weeks_."

"I know, but I still have things to discuss with the pack, and you _are_ pack, Stiles."

Stiles just stood there, a little confused and slightly annoyed. Apparently now he was pack because he was almost killed in the fight, Stiles did not want Derek's pity. But to be honest, Stiles wouldn't have wanted to go if they actually _were_ talking about something that was worth calling a meeting. He had only seen Scott once since he was hurt, he'd been spending most his time with Isaac. The thought left a bitter taste on Stiles' tongue. Stiles didn't even want to _think_ about Jackson and Lydia.

But Derek's eyes never fell away from his and it seemed like he'd stand there and stare at Stiles the whole day until he got an answer; most likely the answer he wanted to hear. Stiles groaned. "Fine, fine I'll go. But I'm only staying for half an hour." Derek nodded and made his way back to the Camaro. Stiles grabbed his keys from the lock on the door and limped over to his Jeep. Before he could even open the car door, Derek was there in front of him. "How about you ride with me," he looked Stiles up and down slowly. "You're obviously still not doing very well. Just-"

"No, I can drive dammit." Stiles wrenched the door open and tried to pull himself up into the seat. He was left sputtering curses at Derek as he was all but dragged to the Camaro.

The meeting itself felt slow and Stiles was a nervous ball of energy. He missed it, then again, he really didn't.

Peter sat beside Derek; mocking interest in what the Alpha had to say – Stiles knew this because his body language screamed it. Peter's eyes never stayed in one place and he was practically nodding along with every word Derek spoke. Stiles noticed that when Peter was truly listening, he'd stay completely still, eyes never leaving the speakers; attention fully centered. Stiles had come to know this from Peter's frequent visits. When Stiles actually _did_ talk, there were times when he knew his words went in one ear and out the other, and there were times when Peter stood un-moving, taking in every word Stiles had to say.

Scott and Isaac were on the Derek's other side. Isaac still seemed very sullen and didn't bother to participate in the discussion. His gaze was glued to the ground, and Scott sat beside him, hand in the middle of his back; rubbing back and forth and in circles. It reminded Stiles of how he and Scott were when his mother passed. His chewed on the inside of his cheek and cast that thought into the far reaches of his mind.

And then there was Jackson and Lydia, the only two that seemed to give a damn about what Derek was going on about. Their fingers were threaded together and their shoulders touched. Stiles seethed with jealousy. He saw the way they'd look at each other in silent agreement with Derek's words, the way Lydia rubbed her thumb against Jackson's in a disgustingly affectionate matter. Stiles knew it was past time to move on, but he just couldn't, it was so hard to let go of the things he knew he couldn't have.

This put him in a bitter mood for the rest of the meeting. Peter picked up on this and quirked and eyebrow at him, mouthing _Are you alright?_ Stiles cleared his throat softly and ignored him.

When the meeting finally ended, Stiles stood in what used to be a foyer and leaned against a column, waiting for Derek to finish up a conversation with Peter and take him home. There was a hand on his shoulder. Without turning around, Stiles said "Derek can you get me home now? I've gotta start dinner for dad and if I'm too late he'll end up sneaking in junk food again."

"I'm sure whatever junk food he'll be eating will taste worlds better than your horrible cooking."

Stiles whirled around and glared at Peter. "I'd have you know that I'm a fucking fantastic cook-" Stiles cut off mid sentence as the sight of Jackson pulling Lydia into him with his hands on her perfect hips caught his attention. She tilted up her chin marginally and kissed him so sweetly. Stiles' breath caught in his throat. Weren’t things supposed to get better with time?

Peter shifted in front of Stiles, blocking his view of the two and instantly he was grateful. Peter waits a few minutes until the room clears out besides the two of them before he says "You're still not over that red-headed girl."

Stiles lowered his eyes. "Strawberry blonde..."

Peter rolled his. "You do understand that there is absolutely _no_ point in hanging onto whatever fantasy you conjured up in your little mind involving the two of you." Stiles furrowed his eyebrows. "Look ,ok my fantasies are none of your business, and anything between Lydia and I isn't-"

"There _is_ nothing between you and Lydia." Peter starts to walk forward. "There is barely a friendship if you squint."

Stiles found himself backed into a wall with Peter's elbow brushing against his ear. His cheeks tinted a slight shade of red at what was either irritation or embarrassment at how close Peter was to him. He decided to stick with his first thought. He opened his mouth to fight back, but Peter closed his eyes and shook his head and said "No, don’t say anything. Listen." Those icy eyes re-opened and pinned Stiles. He pursed his lips into a tight line.

"You're angry: you feel as if the two people whom you built your happiness around have left you correct?" _Three_ Stiles thought, his mother was gone too. "So you scramble back and you latch onto this unrealistic goal of getting to Lydia to leave Jackson; her _mate_ , for _you_." Stiles narrowed his eyes, Peter continued. "And you do this because it keeps your mind off of Scott, off of the fact that he ditched you for Isaac. That instead of visiting you every day while you were hurt, I did." Stiles’ breathing was heavy by now, but he didn't say a word. "Why do you do this to yourself Stiles? You're a smart boy obviously, why grasp at something that hurts you so much? Does it make you actually _feel_ something?"

"I loved her. I really did." He says. "She didn't even say thank you, y'know, for risking my life for everyone," the last words were spoken with his eyes to the ground. "For her."

And there he was, standing there like a fucking statue, eyes never leaving him for a second. So Stiles lets go of everything. He talks about how angry and betrayed he feels by Scott. How his best friend for years suddenly isn't around anymore, how he feels like he was traded up. He speaks on how for a little while, he tried his damned hardest to be happy that Lydia was happy with that jerk, and how he didn't really feel anything at that point. He spent nearly every waking moment with Scott, helping him any way that he could to prepare for the arrival of the alpha pack. And when everything had gone down, Stiles felt so _alive_. Fighting with Scott and Derek's pack was so exhilarating that it led to Stiles’ reckless actions, leaving him hurt in the long run. Stiles talks of how he thought that it was worth it in a way. And then Erica and Boyd were dead. It left a void in Isaac which took Scott away from him. He speaks of how angry he was because of that. So furious at everything and everyone and how watching Lydia kiss and grasp at Jackson only made it worse. Stiles' own void started to grow.

"-and dad's been drinking more than usual cause of me!" Stiles' voice cracked as he shouted. "All these fucking lies and I can't tell him anything!" Stiles shook his head and tried to shake away the tears that threatened to spill onto his burning cheeks. "My mom, Lydia, now Scott? I can't lose any more people; I couldn't handle it."

Stiles holds his breath as he watches Peter wind his arms around him, not speaking a single word. No 'I'm sorry' or 'I know how you feel' his silence is all Stiles needed. The warmth he presented was beyond Stiles, he felt, _safe_.

Until he remembered whose arms he was in.

Stiles grunted as he pushed and shoved at the man's chest, but all proved to be useless as he stood still, arms like iron around Stiles with his nose buried in Stiles' shaggy, short hair.

He writhed.

And he fought.

A sob rocked its way out of Stiles chest; Peter gripped him tighter. Stiles' hands crept up to wrap around Peter's neck, fingers clenching at the hair at the nape.


	4. Derek

Derek could remember Stiles' mother as if she were actually still around. She had such silky looking brown hair. She had a heart of honey and eyes that were a warm hazel that fit with the soft smile she often wore.

Derek didn't know her long, but he still loved her as if she were a mother away from home. She'd ruff up his hair and laugh at the way he would crinkled up his nose. She'd always have a kind word or two to give to Derek if he ever seemed sullen, and her white chocolate and macadamia nut cookies were the best he had ever tasted and every holiday, he'd be running up to her with fingers laced under his chin and the best puppy dog face he had.

Her death had taken him by surprise.

 He had only been 14; just starting classes at Beacon Hills high and he was barely a teenager; terrified of his upcoming first full moon and how that would affect his life after that. He had been told for many years that what the Hale's were, was a secret he could never tell. And Derek wished more than anything that he was able to share that burden with another; he had wished he could tell Stiles' mother because she always had the right words to dispel all of his fears. But she had died before he could work up the courage to break the vows he had made to his family.

 He could remember seeing her inside of her casket, hair thinning and eyes looking sunken; cheeks hollow and the hands lying over her stomach seemed so brittle, as if he were to touch them, they would break. Nevertheless, she still looked like an angel.

As weeks pass, grief layered over Derek thickly. He had such a longing for her fingers through his hair once more, to see her smile act as a light brightening his day. Then, He met Kate. And Derek had thought that it was a blessing from her from the heavens; she had always promised that no matter what, he'd never be alone, that one day someone special would walk into his life and transform him.

She was right.

And now Kate Argent lies in the ground with her by his hand. Along with the rest of his family, besides his uncle.

Derek's heart had hardened and all the trust he had in anyone had gone dry.

It was only when a Stiles Stilinski had risked his life to keep Derek a float in a swimming pool for _two hours_ , did Derek start to feel alive again. It was then, that Derek trusted again.

When Stiles had come to the warehouse, face bruised and bloodied, the fiercest of anger bubbled up in Derek's chest; mind quietly screaming a dozen different things at once.

When Stiles had been hurt after the attack from the Alpha pack, Derek wasn't angry, he was _worried_. Stiles had become a constant in Derek's life; him and Scott by the Hale house each day, planning an infiltration and piecing together an attack. He had grown used to his presence, enjoyed it really, but of course Derek kept that fact to himself. And when Stiles was confined to his home with his injuries, Derek's wolf howled in his ears a melancholy song. Days seemed to drag by slower and the constant chatter Stiles used to keep the awkward silences away – had gone. It was always too quiet now in the Hale home with the exception of hushed whispers exchanged between Isaac and Scott.

Derek _missed_ Stiles and it made him feel sick.

Derek climbed the burnt stairs up to his room and plopped down on the edge of his hard mattress, laying on his back and rubbing his face tirelessly with his hands. It was only a few days ago that Derek made the connection: he could see so much of Stiles' mother inside of Stiles. It softened him, made him yearn to be around Stiles more often than not. And it _killed_ him because being around Stiles' mother was just so easy, but being around him was anything but. He never knew what to say to Stiles, never knew how to approach him.

 

Derek got out of bed and grabbed his leather jacket off of the floor on the other side of the room. He tugged it on and raced downstairs taking two steps at a time. He grabbed his keys and jumped inside his Camaro, tapping on the steering wheel before turning on the engine.

What was he even doing?

 _Going to see Stiles_ he thought, and with that, he made his way out of the woods and drove to Stiles' house. As Derek passed each light, he grew more and more tense. What did he really expect to accomplish by going to see Stiles? It was clear that he did _not_ return Derek’s feelings; in fact, Stiles only really tolerated Derek when it should’ve been the other way around in Derek’s mind.

His house was coming into view and immediately Derek entertained the thought of turning back when he had the chance. But his foot eased on the break as he parked right off the side of the driveway. His hands were trembling and his stomach fluttered. It was almost like dating Kate all over again.

No.

Stiles was _nothing_ like that woman.

He found himself walking up to the front door and fumbling with is car keys to keep his hands busy as he stood there, waiting for his common sense to kick him and make his ass get back in his car and drive home. Instead, he rang the door bell.

“Yes?”

Derek snapped his head up from his hands and cleared his throat. “Ehem, um, can I come inside?” Stiles stepped aside and waved him in. The house smelled of peppers and toasted eggplant; it nearly had Derek’s mouth watering. He followed Stiles into the kitchen and sat at one of the bar stools and watched Stiles prepared a fresh new batch of seasoned eggplant to go into the oven.  
  
“Derek.”

“Oh, I’m sorry did you say something?

Stiles chopped away at some mushrooms as he spoke, “I _said,_ you actually need something or did you just come over to mooch off of my delicious cooking?” Derek stayed silent and smirked as he watched Stiles smoothly chop the mushrooms into fine pieces and throw them into the pan of olive oil to sauté along with the spinach. He dashed some salt and pepper atop the veggies and swished them around the pan, calling over his shoulder, “So I guess you _did_ want some of my marvelous food,” Stiles opened the fridge and pulled out some diced garlic. “S’ok though, everyone loves my cooking. I’m not sure how that wolfy nose of yours could pick up on the scent all the way from your place, but hey, must mean I’m _that_ good.” Derek was relieved that he wasn’t put in the position to explain why he was _really_ here; he wouldn’t know what to tell him.

So he decided to go along. “Eating take out and fast food nearly every day isn’t as satisfying as a good home cooked meal.” And Derek was telling the truth; he couldn’t remember the last time he had actually eaten something that wasn’t an overly-salted burger or a salad with too little ranch dressing.

Stiles turned to him and threw an apron at him. “If you think you’re just gonna barge in here, eat my lasagna and not expect to pay in some way, shape, or form, you’ve got another thing coming Hale.” Derek eyed the apron in his lap. “Are you joking?”  
  
“Nope!”

With a sigh, Derek shrugged off his jacket and pulled the apron over his head; why was he here again?

It was a disaster until the very end. Derek had somehow managed to overcook the pasta and didn’t even bother to heat up the tomato sauce properly. And Stiles _still_ saved the dish. The eggplant and Italian sausages had finished baking in the oven and he layered them over the pasta and ricotta cheese, shooting glares at Derek and cursing all the while. With a pat on Derek’s shoulder, Stiles said, “Well, it could’ve gone a lot worse.” He stuffed another bite of eggplant in his mouth. “’least you tried.”  
  
Derek sat and ate in silence, listening to Stiles go on about how after his fathers’ heart attack a few years back, he vowed he’d start to cook food more clean friendly to keep him healthy. That was Stiles for you; selfless and always willing to change anything at the drop of a dime just to appease another person.

Stiles pushed the remaining bite of sausage and spinach across his plate with his fork, keeping his eyes on his unfinished food. “So, what did you actually come here for?” Derek knew it was coming; he just wasn’t prepared for it. “I wanted to see you.”

“But I was just over not very long ago for the meeting.” Stiles pointed out. Derek sighed; he threw his napkin on top of his empty plate and met Stiles’ questioning eyes. _I wonder what your mother would think if she knew that I wanted to kiss you._

Derek stood up without a word, picking up Stiles’ plate as well as his own and tossing it into the trash. He grabbed his jacket on top of the other barstool and made his way over to the door.  
  
Stiles furrowed his brow and fell into step behind Derek, putting a hand on his shoulder and spinning him around. “Woah, hey hey hey, wait, I asked you a ques-” Derek swore his body acted of its own accord. His hands reached up to cup the sides of Stiles’ neck and he locked their lips together. There was no, tongue, no teeth, jut the feel of soft, pink lips against his own. They stayed like that for a second, then Derek pulled away muttering ‘I’m sorry’ until Stiles pulled Derek back in for another kiss.

His lips molded so well against Derek’s that it felt unreal. They were in total sync as one would lick over the tips of teeth and another would swipe at the underside of a tongue with their own. Derek’s hands found themselves at Stiles’ hips to bring him closer; to deepen the kiss. He could taste the spice of the bell pepper on his tongue and a hint of something that was just completely Stiles. Derek’s head was spinning and he needed more of this; needed more of Stiles. He broke the kiss turned them around and shoved Stiles back into the wall, swallowing the moan Stiles gave as he re-captured his lips. Stiles’ fingers were tugging and pulling at Derek’s hair and it had Derek losing his mind. He slid a knee between Stiles’ legs, biting hard at his bottom lip as he felt the hardness against his knee.

Stiles wanted this; wanted _him._

Derek pulled back once more, drinking in the sight of a breathless and flushed Stiles. Derek licked his bottom lip, cock throbbing in his jeans as he saw Stiles’ eyes trace the movement. When their eyes met again, Stiles slid a hand from Derek’s hair to a stubbly cheek; thumb tracing over a prominent cheek bone. The touch was so intimate, that Derek’s inner wolf was shifting restless inside of him. Derek leaned into the touch. “Hey, I brought Chinese,” he watched Stiles say. Derek scrunched up his face. “What?”  
  
“I said I brought Chinese food, C’mon, get up and take your keys.”

Derek felt something hit his chest.

He jolted upright from his bed, keys slipping into his lap. Peter was at the doorway, waving the bag of grease as he turned to walk back downstairs, calling out “It’s already kinda cold cause I got it before I took Stiles home, so come get it before it gets even colder!”

Derek wasn’t paying any attention at all to what Peter had said; instead he stood up and rammed his fist into the wall, easily denting it and trying his damned hardest not to drive his hand through.

Of course it had been a dream.

Derek was a fool for thinking he could actually have something that he wanted.


	5. Stiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in honor of my birthday today, I decided to get off my lazy ass and bust out a new chapter for you all! Birthday cake and presents are now accepted in the form of comments.

Stiles wasn't exactly sure when he had detangled himself from Peter and ended up in the driver seat of Derek's Camaro with a hot box of Chinese food in his lap. It had all happened so fast and Stiles' head was still spinning. He was impulsive sure, but impulsive (and stupid) enough to allow Peter Hale to _touch_ him, what in the hell was he thinking?

Stiles' knee bobbed up and down quickly with nervous energy.

 _He can't be trusted. And I broke down in his arms._ He was such an idiot! Stiles knew that in a way Peter had proved himself trustworthy during the attack of the Alpha pack, though It didn't mean that _Stiles_ trusted him.

_But you do_

Stiles curses inwardly at the thought.

The drive back to his place was awkward and quiet for Stiles. He glanced over at Peter periodically who seemed at ease and aloof to him; tapping his fingers against the wheel in time with the downbeat of the music that played on the radio. They were nearly there by now and Stiles' hands started to shake and breathing proved to be difficult as each minute passed. He could feel a panic attack coming on.

S _hit shit why the fuck did I do that_ …

"Stiles?"

_Peter. It just had to be Peter why not Scott or Lydia?!_

_Lydia..._

"Stiles!"

_Can't trust him_

"Stiles BREATHE."

Stiles' chest was heavy and his heart hammered in his ears; he was dizzy and his body had become tingly and warm all over. He could feel rough hands cupping his cheeks, he could see the bluest of eyes so close to his, and he could feel hot breath dance across his face. He could hear Peter yelling at him to breathe. Stiles grabbed onto Peter's forearms and heaved in one deep breath after another; harsh panting slowly leveling out. A thumb rubbed across his cheek. He jerked back at the touch and wrapped his arms around himself. Great. Just fucking great.

Peter pulled back and eyed Stiles for a few minutes before he stepped out of the car and went around to opening up the passenger side and yanking Stiles out by his arm. "Hey hey what the fuck Peter!" Peter grabbed at the collar on Stiles' flannel and shoved him back against the car. Stiles lowered his brow and grit his teeth. "Let. Me go." Peter just stayed there, daring Stiles to try and move him. When Stiles had calmed down a bit, all he said was why, and the look that Peter had given Stiles showed him that the man was just as clueless as he was. Eventually Peter let go of Stiles and kept his distance. Stiles popped his collar once and smoothed out his shirt. "You, are Peter fucking Hale," he started. "Ex Alpha, a snide, snarky bastard," he crossed his arms and watched his feet. "Turned my best friend, tried to kill _all_ of us, and here you are. Back from the dead and fighting with the _good guys_." Stiles snorted. "You save my life, and now you just won't. Leave. Me. Alone." His eyes met Peter's once more. "Why?"

"Because," that stupid fucking smirk creeped onto his lips as he stepped closer to Stiles with hands behind his back. "Derek asked me to."

And at that, something inside of Stiles hurt and _longed_ for another answer. But he'd never admit that to himself. Stiles swallowed and nodded and took his box of food from inside the car. He went inside without looking back or giving a word to Peter.

\--

"Y'think I could have another piece of that garlic bread?" John Stilinski's mouth was as full as it could get; bits of salmon and lettuce flying onto his plate as he spoke. Stiles rubbed at his temple as his shoulders shook in silent laughter. He shook his head. "Dad, you've already had _two_ , should'a stopped you at one." Stiles brought another forkful of lo mein and fried rice to his lips.

His father furrowed his eyebrows. "Stiles you know that I've been sticking to _your_ diet like-"

" _My_ diet?" Stiles scoffed. "Hey I'm not the one with the high blood pressure over here." John glared as he chomped on a bite of salad.

Stiles had come to forget the series of panic-induced events from earlier and focused on spending much needed time with his father. They had somewhat come to a silent agreement over the past few months. Obviously his father knew that something was going on in his life; something dangerous and no matter what he tried, Stiles had always answered with a lie no matter how much he wish he didn't have to. So he never brought it back up, hoping Stiles would tell him when he was ready to let go of that information. With Scott's mom now in the knowing, Stiles had hoped that that mean he'd finally be able to tell his dad everything he had been holding in for the past year and a half. But per Derek's orders, he just wasn't ready yet.

They talked of many things while they ate: interesting cases that had come his dad's way at the job, how absolutely bored to death Stiles was during this long summer, how no matter how long his dad begged he was _not_  getting that last piece of garlic bread.

"So where's Scott been lately?" John wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Haven't seen him around in a while."

Scott. At one point, it was impossible to separate the two, now it seemed that applied to Isaac and Scott.

"He's been busy," Stiles said dryly. His dad's eyes were sad momentarily, he reached across the table and shook Stiles' shoulder, making Stiles look at him. His tone was soft. "I know that ever since Scott and Allison got together  you feel like you've been left out of the loop." He squeezed his shoulder. "But trust me son, you _will_ find someone that'll take your mind from that, from Lydia even," Stiles lowered his head at that. John sighed. "Just give it some time." Stiles half-smiled and nodded. "Thanks dad." And with that, he took both of their plates to the garbage and ran up the stairs to his room.

_You will find someone_

 Stiles felt sick to his stomach.

He lay on his bed for a while until he couldn't take another second of being left with his thoughts, so he searched underneath his bed for his _A Game of Thrones_ novel. Stiles always was a sucker for fantasy.

He read for a few hours and Stiles could finally say that he felt relaxed. As he reached Bran's chapter, he folded the edge of the page and shut his book, feeling a bit drowsy. A bit of chocolate milk before bed sounded absolutely wonderful to Stiles.

He was halfway down the stairs before he caught sight of his father fishing into a cabinet above the stove. He grunted and stretched until he grabbed what he had been looking for, a bottle of whisky. His father grabbed a shot glass and sat at a bar stool; pouring and knocking back shot after shot. Stiles was mortified.

"I thought you threw out the last bottle." Stiles' voice was thick in his throat. His dad jumped and turned to see Stiles with his arms crossed and his eyes glossing over. He hung his head and said "I-"

"Don't," Stiles ground out. He stomped back up to his room, slammed and locked the door behind him. His dad didn't even bother to come up and apologize. Stiles furiously rubbed at his eyes and took several deep breaths to calm his shaken nerves. It had only been a matter of time.

Hours later, Stiles pulled a very heavy and tipsy John from his seat and carried him up to his bedroom; setting a glass of water and Tylenol by his bedside.

It was a quarter past two AM now and Stiles had been staring at Scott's number, contemplating on whether or not he should call. Over the years it had become a common thing for the boys: staying up on the phone with each other at ungodly hours in the morning; subjects varying between girls, porn, usually porn. Stiles smiled sadly at the memory; he missed those simple times.

He dialed and waited. Voicemail, he wasn't surprised.

\--

A week dragged by painfully slow for Stiles. He hadn't heard from Scott or the rest of the pack, even Peter had vanished. And so Stiles did anything he could possibly do to keep his mind entertained and occupied. From cleaning his room and mowing the lawn and doing various other chores he'd loathe doing at any other given time. He had even planned out all the meals for this week and had begun to start writing up another meal plan for the July calendar before he groaned loudly and threw the calendar across the room.

Stiles felt like he was literally about to lose his shit.

When he found himself snatching his phone from his mattress and dialing in Peter's number, he was sure he had already lost it.

"Hello..?"

Stiles froze.

It was Derek.

The line was quiet for a few seconds before Derek said, "Stiles?"

Stiles clicked 'end call' and locked his phone. His lips were pressed into a tight line. Derek had been the reason Peter started spending so much time with Stiles.

Derek started all of this shit. Just like he started everything this else. Now Stiles couldn't get that smug asshole out of his head because of _Derek_. Frustrated, he sighed and shook his head.

His phone vibrated in his pocket about an hour later. Stiles was aware of whom it was and he let it ring until it buzzed at him once more to signal the received voicemail.

"I'm coming to pick you up later." Was all that was said. Sometimes, Stiles really didn't get Peter. He could be so straightforward one minute, then really coy and full of sarcasm and hints the next.

The text 'alright' sat unsent on his screen. Was he really going to do this?

Stiles shoved his phone into his pocket and looked over at the wilted sunflowers. He muttered to himself, "I don't trust him."

_But you do._


	6. Chapter 6

I'm sorry that this isn't a chapter but I saw it as just wrong to go so long without updating. My attention has kinda reared towards the ASoIaF and Game of Thrones fandom and I kinda lost all inspiration for this fic. I'm not sure if I'll re-work the plot and such or just orphan it because I've hit quite the plateau with this story.

I know Teen Wolf comes back on in a few months so maybe I'll get back to it then. As for now I'll be dwelling in the GoT fandom.

If you have any ideas or thoughts you'd like to see happen in this fic then by all means contact me an brainstorm because I'm open to it! Shoot me a message at padalecki-boner.tumblr.com


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